


Deep in Slumber, the Secret Spilled from his Lips

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Series: All I Need [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon also suffers from post-resurrection effects, Jon talks in his sleep, References to Ramsay, Sansa has trust issues, Sharing a Bed, but nothing explicit or too much, completely ignores season 7, so it gets awkward at some point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 13:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12749400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: Jon and Sansa spend their evenings and nights together, but they're still unsure how to act around each other during the day.While Jon discovers Sansa has become his greatest comfort in these dire times, she still struggles, trying to figure out what the man she once called half-brother wants most.





	Deep in Slumber, the Secret Spilled from his Lips

It was still dark when Jon woke up alone in his chambers. For a moment he panicked, not recognizing his surroundings, until a familiar scent filled his nostrils. He dressed quickly and left for the Great Hall.

He found Sansa in front of the door to Robb's chambers again, her shoulders tense and eyes glassy. He halted, trying to decide whether he should announce his presence or turn on his heels.

"You did it," she murmured, so quietly he wasn't sure if she was talking to him or to herself. She angled her face toward him, acknowleding him with a slow blink.

"I did." He'd ordered everything inside that room to be burned, at her request.

She was still studying him, head cocked to the side, before turning her eyes back to the door. She lifted her chin in that way which he'd discovered she used when she was bracing herself for something, gathering her courage. She blinked again and shook her head, eyes dropping to the floor. 

He wanted to close the distance between them and pull her into his arms, stroke her hair and tell her she was safe with him, pressing his lips to her temple to remind her of his promises. But he couldn't do it, not surrounded by the dreary yet still too bright light of day.

That kind of affection and intimacy was a thing for the nights, only to happen under the cover of darkness, which allowed them to pretend that it could chase away the horrible truth of their pasts and that it was enough to help them struggle through their present. At night she was warm and comforting as she lay in his arms, during the day she was cold and distant, the elusive ghost of a girl he'd once known and at times he couldn't decide who the real Sansa was.

"Jon." She surprised him, standing closer than he'd expected. "Thank you." She offered him a weak smile, which he answered with one of his own.

He frowned, pursing his lips. Had she expected him to refuse or ignore her plea?

She looked down at her hands, which were folded together in front of her stomach, fingers fidgeting nervously. "I- I used to hate the nights, I absolutely dreaded them. I couldn't sleep, lying alone in bed, expecting him to come in at any moment. I dreamed of it every night. But now I know the nightmares aren't real, because you are there."

Her smile was brighter now, even if the way she glanced up at him through her eyelashes seemed rather bashful. It did odd things to his insides and made him feel slightly disoriented.

He'd like to tell her their nights together were a great comfort to him as well. If he managed to get any sleep at all before, he'd wake up gasping, his hands clawing at thin air as his frantic heartbeat failed to remind him he was still alive. Darkness was darkness, and even during the waking hours he could feel parts of himself slipping back into it. But not anymore, when he was startled from his slumbers these nights, she'd be there right next to him, or even cradled in his arms, and he'd pull her closer to reassure himself that she was real and that he wasn't dead anymore.

"It helps me, too, having you with me at night," he confessed, voice rough.

For a brief moment, she put a delicate hand on his arm before moving past him to go and attend to her duties.

He shook his head and followed in the same direction shortly after to meet with some of the Glover men for a short sparring session. Afterward they'd break their fast and prepare their mission. There were still some Bolton loyalists, accompanied by outlaws, wreaking havoc on the smallfolk surrounding the Dreadfort. Jon would be assisting Lord Glover and his ward Larence Snow on their quest to root them out soon. 

He needed to run the idea of legitimizing the lad and naming him Lord Hornwood by Sansa when he saw her again at night. He was als going to tell her that he planned to name her his regent in his absence. He hoped it would please her, and that it would help him along in gaining her trust.

He wondered whether there was still some of the hippocras left Lord Manderly had brought from White Harbour. He was certain she liked it better than ale or the couple of bottles of dry wine which could still be found in Winterfell's cellars.

It had become a habit of theirs, to meet in her solar in the evenings and share a cup of ale or wine in front of the fire. For the first time in years, Jon found himself talking freely about things he'd never discussed with anyone before, or at least not at great length.

They tended to avoid the most painful memories, but he knew about Sansa's crush on the Knight of Flowers and had an inkling of what Joffrey had done to her. He'd even tried telling her about Ygritte and about how she'd died in his arms. 

He was going to miss her, being away from Winterfell for at least a fortnight, and he loathed the idea of leaving her alone, but he knew she was more than capable of ruling in his stead while he was gone.

He stepped into the courtyard, breathing in the crisp, clean air and flexed his swordhand, eager to test his skills against Glover's men.

***

Sansa woke up in the dark, but before her scream had the chance to work its way up her throat, she became aware of the comforting weight of Jon's arm slung over her waist. Her back was resting against his warm, solid chest and he was snoring softly.

Slowly her breathing returned to normal and she burrowed her face into her pillow. She stayed still for a couple of moments, making sure she hadn't startled him from his sleep. 

When his breathing remained even, she relaxed into his embrace, enjoying the feeling of being so close to him. She remembered he'd be leaving later today and her stomach turned at the idea of spending so many nights without him. 

She could get through them.  _I can be brave,_ she told herself. But she still wished she wouldn't have to. It scared her sometimes, how much she'd come to depend on Jon, how deep her trust for him went.

At every turn he'd proven himself to be a man she'd never expected to meet in her life. He had his faults. He was stubborn and proud, made decisions without overthinkig them and at times he had a quick temper, but so far he'd never turned it on her in a malicious way.

She felt safe with him, even if his incomprehensible desire to protect her at all costs annoyed her. There was something positively charming about it as well though. The thought even brought a smile to her lips. 

Still a voice inside her warned her she should find out how to move him, just in case. Being at the mercy of others for so many years had awoken inside her an inexplicable urge to find some measure of control, as a safeguard, a last line of defence she couldn't let go of just yet.

It was a need she wished she could leave behind, but it would take a while for her to unlearn it. And in most cases it wouldn't be that horrible a habit anyway.

She closed her eyes again. It was still early, they could stay like this for a little while longer.

Jon's hand moved a couple of inches up her belly and then to her side, down to her hip and back up again. He nuzzled his face into her neck, beard prickling, and pressed his soft lips to the small patch of skin where her night rail had slipped down her shoulder. 

For a moment she froze, startled by his unexpected actions, but then he released a content sigh and resumed his snoring. 

 _Oh,_ she mused,  _he must be dreaming about his Wildling girl._ She ignored the small part deep inside of her that felt a bit disappointed. It hadn't felt bad, not at all actually.

 _Seven Hells, you're foul, Sansa._ Was she? Was it so wrong of her to enjoy a gentle touch and a tender kiss, both innocent enough? For years she'd only known cruel touches and forced kisses. This felt so different.

She turned around to study his face in the dim light. He looked younger and softer, but even in sleep his lips were puckered into a pout and a small crease was etched between his eyebrows.

She reached out, unsure of the destination of her fingers. As she did so however, he rolled over in his sleep and she toppled to her back with him landing half on top of her, his face nestled against her bosom and his arm slung over her shoulder.

She didn't dare to move, afraid that he'd wake up and realize their embarassing position. Slowly she became aware that the fabric covering her right nipple was growing wet. Jon was drooling all over her teat.

Suddenly he muttered: "Sansa."

For a moment she thought he was awake, but then she heard that pleased groan again, before he continued: "My sweet Sansa."

Her cheeks flushed with heat. She hadn't imagined that, had she?  _Is that what you want, Jon?_

Perhaps the idea wasn't that vile after all. They were wolves, they needed to stick together. She'd witnessed and experienced enough truly sinful things in her life to question whether this would be so terrible. Besides, if she could trust him with her body, she might learn to trust him with everything else as well.


End file.
